Serge Lutens Arabie: fragrance review

Arabie is a virtual stroll amidst the exotic Al Halili bazaar at noon, rows and rows of succulent dried fruits and colorful, piquant, pungent spices; a kaleidoscopic vision seen in vermilion and saffron red. Women and men could get entangled in its nectarous, densely woven web, especially when the weather is cool and the mood is festive.

via

Temperamentally sweet, luminous, golden, reminiscent of fruit & spice compotes and as mysterious as the East itself, Arabie is a sinfully rich fragrance for those who are not afraid to get their fingers inside the cookie jar!

Created in 2000.
Fragrance Family: Oriental Spicy

Top notes: candied mandarin, dried fig, dates.
Heart: cardamom, nutmeg, cumin, bay leaf, clove.
Base: Tonka bean, Siamese benzoin, myrrh.

Serge Lutens L'Orpheline: fragrance review & sample draw

Much like the mysterious (and incestuous) half-sister in Leos Carax's  radical adaptation of Melville's Pierre: or, the Ambiguities (1852) in "Pola X", the specter of the missing family member being visited while in almost somnambulist state, L'orpheline (the orphan girl), the latest Serge Lutens fragrance, becomes "un visage….sans age…une souffle, une presence" (a face…ageless…a breath, a presence) which disrupts the flow of a seemingly smooth, luxurious life with its secret of a tormented and deprived past. And again much like the play of light & darkness throughout the film by Leos, L'orpheline presents a play between the cool and warm register, between madness creeping underneath love, and between comfort emerging where you least expect it. Like Pierre, Lutens, you see, views himself as an artist in love with reckless gestures, only thankfully his charm lies not in any thorough immaturity. On the contrary, he has revealed intimate, personal stuff to us with the maturity that comes from acceptance.

Serge presents the new perfume in these words written in a vertical sequence: " Friable mais entière.À demi-mot, son nom se fêle. Avant la brisure, les deux premières syllabes portent le nom du poète qui même pouvait charmer les pierres. " Lutens of course winks at Orpheus, the legendary Greek poet and prophet who charmed every being with his music and tried to retrieve his wife, Eurydice, from the dead by way of his skills, only to meet with his own death from those who could not hear his divine music…which ties with the cryptic text he has written on L'Incendiaire, his other fragrant release, in a new "golden line", announced here a while ago. How's that for two shots with one stone?

Does Serge try to bring back his repressed beloved, his mother, a small bit at a time, with each of his fragrances? Possibly. Lutens is a grown Remi (after Malot's "Sans famille"), on a journey of the roads of France, on a journey of the roads of perfume. And like Carax or Rivette or any master of that school, he certainly takes his time into letting us share his journey.
The poetic concept of the "orphan", "fragile but whole" (this is a French expression that really loses in the translation), is inspired by Lutens's own childhood, "of ashes" and rage, his painful memories of being raised without a mother and abandoned by his father, though the change of sex in the fragrance name suggests a Freudian transposition regarding the significance of the Father (as suggested by Lutens himself). He conflates the male with pain ("le Mâle : le mal"), an Oedipal symbolism that doesn't go amiss. Nor is it intended to.

For this coolish and quiet fragrance (sequentially warmish, like Gris Clair) named  L'Orpheline, Lutens and his sidekick perfumer Chris Sheldrake focus on incense notes, not as cold and soapy as in L'Eau Froide, neither as spicy warm and shady as in Serge Noire, but somewhere in between; entre chien et loup, between daylight and darkness. Frankincense, the impression of bittersweet myrrh and peppery-acrid (elemi? cumin? ginger?) rather than clove-y carnation notes seem to rise, a cross between spirituality and carnality? Lutens knows how to marry contradictions and swath the opulence of orientalia into Parisian refinement. The spicy note in the heart reminds me of a mix between mace and cumin, reminiscent of both Secret Obsession (the now discontinued Calvin Klein fragrance) and a lighter Serge Noire by Lutens.

Yet the end result in L'Orpheline is apart; neither a true Moroccan oriental like hardcore Serge fans have built an online cult out of, nor a classically French perfume for the salon, but a mysterious, vaporous emanation "between the storm and clear skies", between the ashes of the past and the uncertainty of the future, a Delacroix painting, a dwindling match leaving embers behind. The peppery accent on the incense reminds me of the treatment of carnations in Oeillet Bengale (one of the best releases of the year so far) while the musky underlay is soft, subtle, meditative and not entirely without a certain poignancy.

L'Orpheline would suit anyone who like Pierre "had been waiting for something", regardless of their sex. Haven't we all?

L'Orpheline is an haute concentration fragrance, meaning more concentrated than the beige label ones, belonging in the "black line" of the so called "export range" by Serge Lutens. It will retail at 99 euros for 50ml, is already at the Palais Royal and eboutique and will be widely launched internationally on September 1st.

One sample out of my own decant to a lucky reader commenting below. Draw is open till Sunday midnight.

Teo Cabanel Barkhane: fragrance review & free perfume draw

There are generally speaking three directions on amber, that perfumery trope which although reminiscent of alembicated elixirs derives in reality from the late 19th century and its advances in chemistry. Roughly, much like human body types, there is the thick-set endomorph, vanillic and zaftig amber, often powdery but a little too snuggly the way a favorite aunt suffocated you as a child when she tried to hug you; there's the linear ectomorph, naturally rail-thin and giving only a hint of an oriental, fit for people who consider sipping a latte as having the equivalent of a dessert orgy only the calories fly off their cage-like backs (Marc Jacobs Amber Splash I'm looking at you); and finally the elusively callipygean mesomorph, its discovery as awe inspiring as the realization of the protagonist in They Live, an amber that's got to be extra-terrestrial, since there's no other explanation for its perfect, almost perverse precision and special abilities.

photo by Francesco Middei for National Geographic via Pinterest (Namibia sand dune)

Some of my favorite ambers belong to that last category, managing the trick via either a generous helping of herbal accents (Ambre Sultan by Lutens is the crowning example) or a devious splattering of incense notes, via frankincense or myrrh (Ambra del Nepal or Angelique Encens are decent examples.)        

Barkhane belongs to this special category, a foudroyant amber perfume both thanks to its transparent treatment of the labdanum (cistus)-vanillin pairing and the bittersweet myrrh resin which illuminates it the way vitraux illuminate a cathedral. From a distance Barkhane suggests repetition, since Alahine (Cabanel's 2007 fragrance) was also a terrific amber. But it is not, since it lacks the rosy floralcy and the woody element, as perfumer Jean-Francois Latty here focused instead on the introduction of a tempered oud note which tilts it into the slightly medicinal, more masculine or unisex territory. There is also a notable spicy component (reportedly built on cumin and curry notes) which melds with the myrrh.

Last but not least: the lasting power is phenomenal for something so well balanced and, yes, at its fighting weight.

Barkhane is the latest fragrance by niche French brand Teo Cabanel, re-introduced recently in the States and repackaged to new heights of luxury under the direction of heiress Caroline Ilacqua. The fragrance's name derives from the naturalist Alexander von Middendorf, who used it to describe "the smooth velvety dunes which gently ripple under powerful desert winds".

I have a self-bought* large sample for one lucky reader in Europe/rest of the world. If you're in the USA, thanks to Hypoluxe Inc.'s generosity, there's the option of one BIG 1/2oz spray for ONE lucky winner and 15 sample vials for 15 more winners. 
Please enter a comment saying your opinion on amber fragrances and if you have a favorite/Kryptonite one and please state whether you're in Europe/USA/rest of the world. 
Draw is open till Thursday midnight, winners to be announced sometime on Friday.
(*The company did send me another one for reviewing purposes)

Chanel Coco by Chanel: fragrance review

Coco by Chanel must be among a handful of fragrances on the market to have not only one, but two flankers without being a spectacular market success to begin with. Flankers are supporting fragrances coat-tailing on the success of the original perfume, borrowing part of the name of the original as well as the bottle mould, but differing in scent and target demographics. Coco has two: Coco Mademoiselle, an alarmingly successful best-seller for youngish women that has far eclipsed the original, and Coco Noir, a woody fragrance of recent crop with dubious presence on the market as yet. Today Coco seems old fashioned and aimed only at mature women, fading-to-market-black, but soon after it came out it profited of a marketing campaign that positioned it as a sexy debutante scent, fronted by then teenager Vanessa Paradis! Funny how perceptions change and we used to wear Ungaro Diva and the like when not yet out of high school, right?

The most astounding personal association I have with Coco has always been one that pertains to its market share, not the scent itself: In all my many years of perfume observation & appreciation I have never met in real life a person owning a bottle of Coco, a fact which had always struck me as weird considering the continued presence of the perfume on the counters. Chanel No.19 is also an undivided presence on the local counters (and a steady seller according to SAs), but I actually know people who wear it, I smell it on the street from time to time and I have seen bathroom shelves with a bottle of it proudly displayed more than once or twice. Someone must be buying Coco too, then, right?
But let's take things at the top.

Aiming to capture a more Baroque side of Chanel, taking the sobriquet given to Gabrielle Chanel by her escapee father and inspired by Gabrielle's Rue Cambon apartment with its casket-like rooms full of Venetian glass, Chinoiserie panels and leather bound books, house perfumer Jacques Polge set out to compose a true 1980s perfume following the commercial smash hit of YSL Opium: bold, brash, take no prisoners. And he succeeded in the most part.

The fragrant secrets of Coco by Chanel
One of the peculiarities of Coco is that it was among the first perfumes to be conceived not as an extrait de parfum first but rather envisioned in its diluted form of eau de parfum. The market had gone away from the more discreet, more intimate use of parfum extrait and demanded a really powerful spray that would announced the wearer before she was seen; ergo the eau de parfum (and sometimes the parfum de toilette) concentration, less expensive than extrait but rivaling its lasting power, while at the same time being extra loud thanks to the volatility boost via the spraying mechanism.

The secret ingredient in the formula of Coco by Chanel is the inclusion of the base Prunol*, a rich and dark "dried fruits & spices" mélange famously exalted in Rochas Femme by Edmond Roudnitska, which gives Coco a burnished hint of raisin. The cascade of honeyed spices immediately asserts itself: pimento, cardamom, cinnamon, cumin and clove, while the overall feeling is one of amber plush and resinous warmth (with a wink of leather) with the flowers folded into a rich batter and undiscernable. The patchouli (tucked into the Prunol base) gives a whiff of chocolate, though, in the words of Susan Irvine, not even a fashion innovator of the magnitude of Chanel would have considered a note reminiscent of a bedtime drink as worthy of consideration in fine fragrance. (One would perversely wish she had lived through present fruitchouli-infested times to see how she'd chuckle under her smartly cuffed sleeve.)

A Perfume Apart
Coco by Chanel enjoys something of a revered status among perfumistas, so it's not clear whether it should be considered an "underrated perfume" in the first place, but my inclusion in the Underrated Perfume Day series isn't totally random as it would appear on first sight nevertheless. First of all it was demanded by quite a lot of readers. Secondly, this is the kind of perfume that I should be theoretically crazy about (a spicy oriental in the mold of my beloved YSL vintage Opium, Cinnabar, Feminité du Bois and Krizia Teatro alla Scala) and yet I am not. Indeed I have been trying it on and off for decades now.

However when married with a huge bottle of Coco (extrait de parfum in spray no less) I had the following peculiar problem, for something so -allegedly- admired: I could NOT swap it with other interested perfumephiles no matter what! I tried everything: stooping to suggesting I'd trade for inexpensive eaux de toilette from mainstream brands, offering to supplement with generous niche samples, pleading "please take it off my hands, it's a shame it should collect dust, just take it already". No one wanted it. I finally gifted it off to a women's shelter where its whereabouts have been lost to me. The perfume lover who had sold it to me in the first place recounted to me the exact same problem: "I spent two years trying to get this thing off my hands; when you came along and showed an interest I couldn't believe it".

Is Coco by Chanel something that perfumistas like to reference but rarely -if ever- wear? Are its wearers merely nostalgic for the 1980s, a time they were young and more optimistic, and therefore owning a little bottle is just that, a memento of carefree times? Is it, finally, past its due and not that spectacular to begin with? I think a bit of all those things. One thing however that it did magnificently well was its advertising by Jean Paul Goude: Vanessa Paradis as an exotic bird in a cage whistling to the meowing of a big greedy cat outside and "l' ésprit de Chanel" as the tag line. Coco Chanel would have been proud.

For more perfume reviews of such fragrances check out the Underrated Perfume Day feature and scroll for more musings. 

*For modern takes on the Prunol type base in perfumes, look no further than Bottega Veneta eau de parfum, Chinatown by Bond no.9 and Mon Parfum Chéri by Camille (Annick Goutal).

Hermes Hermessence Epice Marine: new fragrance preview

The sea accord is sweet. The smell coming from the bed of the ocean and the misty fog in Brittany is not. To evoke therefore the changing scenery of Mont Saint Michel which recalls seascapes by Turner and pirate adventures full of spices, wooden floors and smoked woods, in house Hermès perfumer Jean Claude Ellena pairs an algae & smoky whisky accord with spices to render a "spicy marine" fragrance, namely Epice Marine (which translates exactly like that). Marine fragrances are the anathema of many a hard-core perfume aficionado, mainly due to the prevailing of this genre during the 1990s, a landmark for perfumery which created with its deeply artificial nuance as many foes as it did acolytes. But if there is one illusionist able to shutter biases and make perfumephiles see things anew, it is without doubt Ellena. And that's what he does in his latest Hermessence; beyond the sea, but not far from it all the same.

Epice Marine, the 11th Hermessence fragrance, is inspired on the one hand by the Saint-Malo milieu, full of celtic traditions and the marine songs of the changing scenery of Mont Saint Michel, that is so familiar to Olivier Roellinger (3 stars Michelin chef & owner of Maisons de Bricourt in Cancale) and on the other hand by the Provencal countryside of Cabris where Hermès perfumer Jean Claude Ellena spends his days immersed in the serene Mediterranean blue. The conversation between these two opposing, and yet converging worlds, took the course of a passionate and prolonged epistolary exchange of views between the two men during the course of many months, starting with Roellinger's invitation to Ellena in october 2011 to come over at Cancale at La Maison du Voyager (the voyager's mansion) where the chef grew up and keeps his spice & savory archives for his restaurants.

pic provided to PerfumeShrine via Hermes

An idea begins to take shape in Ellena's mind as he listens to his friend recount the seafaring adventures required to amass and distribute green cardamom and Sichuan pepper on the Spice Route during the 16th century and the trafficking conducted by pirates. Contrary to bourgeois perfumery, which uses several accords and complicated combinations "to render an effect", Ellena likes to zero-in on the essentials, rendered in an artistic way which allows to highlight unexpected facets.

Toasted cumin grains, sent from Cancale to Cabri, seal the deal for the new concept: Epice Marine will focus on this polarizing note which is central to the adventures of seafaring. But contrary to the usual cumin essence which has a tendency to recall human sweat to some people, this toasted cumin variety renders an aromatic oil which is human-smelling all the same, carnal and skin-like, as Ellena divulges, but in a very sensual tonality. Ellena has this spice distilled to render an essential oil which encompasses notes of toasted bread, hazelnut, sesame; these nuances are deeply exciting to Ellena, who proceeds to write to Roellinger to relay his appreciation and to inform him that he is continuing, with a bigger order for the toasted spice, allied with cinnamon and cardamom.

via aromo.ru

Epice Marine by Hermès also uses a generous helping of bergamot to give a vibrant start. To that he has added a synthetic molecule which recalls algae, a more oceanic feel than the sea accord. This is done intentionally as the "sea" note is sweeter than the ocean at Brittany (la Bretagne), which is drier, saltier, more savory. The coupling of the algae note with the spice manages to evoke that. But one thing is missing... The scent of the marine mist, that deep humid scent that comes out of the seabed. This is the definitive accent, provided by a smoky, peaty note of whisky constructed anew by Ellena himself, specifically inspired by the Bruichladdich whisky (a gorgeous single malt from the Hebrides with elegant floral notes). It evokes the boiled buckwheat and the North-East winds of the foggy Brittany.

After 24 mods, the perfumer is still not satisfied with the development of the composition. The smokiness and the oceanic notes seem a little flat to him. He reworks the oakmoss essence variety used in the base, deducts the vetiver variety used previously, and works on a source water "note" to lessen the salty aspect of the fragrance. It is now March 2012. In two months the finished fragrance will be ready but it will take a while to see the light of day: in September 2013 Epice Marine will hit the boutiques. The adventure begins...

 certain notes thanks to Sybille Grandchamp of Vanity Fair France, translated by the author.

Lived-in Elegance & Sexiness: The Surprising Case of Cumin Fragrances

Would you believe me if I said that one incredibly sexy, shockingly intimate nuance in fragrance comes from a humble kitchen spice? Cumin is frequently featured in men's perfumes to offset lighter notes and it imparts a wonderful carnality in feminine fragrances, especially now that animalic ingredients coming from animal sources are non existent and the alternatives are mostly sub-par synthetics that do not create the same intimacy. This dense, pungent ingredient can couple well with floral essences and with woods and is often among the spice "bouquet" in spicy oriental fragrances, making it a very pliable and versatile partner in perfume composition.

Source: tumblr.com via PerfumeShrine on Pinterest

The inclusion of cumin can provide that underlay of lived-in quality that is can be so elegant and old-money in fragrance compositions that would be effete without it: Eau d'Hermès by Edmond Roudnitska for Hermès is a great example, a citrus-leathery cologne for men (that women can share) which feels like a worn pair of chinos for a walk outdoors. Roudnitska's talented pupil and modern maestro of niche, Jean Claude Ellena, took this segment off the old into creating his masterful Cartier Declaration: the cumin in tandem with cardamom creates a contrast of cool and warm, on a mossy, foresty base that feels fresh, yet providing the feeling of someone who is breathing, feating and living underneath (and probably has apocrine glands that function properly and freely!), not a sterilized version of a human just out of the sauna. In Diorella, another Roudnitska classic, the ripe melon, almost garbage-like note marries well to the dirty, spicy cumin to make the refreshing top notes less acidic and more enigmatic.

To extend this notion, cumin can also provide a sexy glimpse, as in afterglow bodies which although were clean to begin with now bear the fruits of some romping around. The inclusion of cumin in the modernized Rochas Femme was an especially enlightened idea in view of that aspect; although purists argue it's quite different than the original Roudnitska creation, one can't fail to notice that at least in spirit, if not in letter, it stays close to the dicta of the grand master. Absolue pour le Soir by Maison Francis Kurkdjian marries cumin and powerful musky notes to render a very naughty olfactory experience indeed! Even though it is profoundly sexy, however, the fragrance never veers into the territory of vulgar, not meaning to please everyone via "easy" popular tricks. In Parfum d'Empire Aziyadé the cumin inclusion provides the exotic touch, but also the languor of the harem, the name deriving from the story of a concubine in Ottoman Turkey. In Jubilation 25 (Amouage) cumin plays a significant role into providing the decadent fruity chypre ambience of classics of yore. Fleurs d'Oranger by Lutens, although certainly not a lonely case of cumin use in the vast portfolio of spicy wonders in the line, is probably the most erotic floral of the brand; lush, dense, seriously romantic, fanning the spice over the carnality of orange blossom absolute and dense, clotted tuberose essence. A play of seduction in the cloistered gardens of Cordoba.

 Other times the author of a perfume is interested neither in the lived-in elegance, nor the sexiness, but in providing an unexpected touch that will distinguish the composition into an unusual spicy arpeggio above the clichés of cinnamon and pepper: Kenzo Jungle L'Eléphant was such a case, as was L'Autre by Diptyque, their distinctiveness probably the very reason of their market demise...

 WEARER'S CAVEAT EMPTOR

Cumin being the great divider it is, however -several people find a prominent note of cumin either too foody (like Indian food, where cumin is featured in the preparation of curry mixes) or too "dirty" (as in body odor)- sampling is definitely recommended for any fragrance that features cumin prominently. This is a matter of cerebral familiarity with it rather than skin compatibility which goes both ways: If you know the spice, you can pick it up and be indifferent to it due to over-familiarization through spicy food, or alternatively you can pick it up better than someone non familiar with it and thus be more attentive to it, especially if you don't fancy Indian or Middle Eastern food, feeling it sticks out like a sore thumb!)

 Cumin has been inumerable times linked to the scent of sweat on online fora and communities, to the point that it is enough to even mention the list of notes featuring it to have at least one person wondering whether the perfume will end up smelling like stale sweat on them... It's an anecdote, but a good one; when Kingdom by Alexander McQueen, a cumin-laced skanfest by all accounts, launched, an experienced online member by the alias Serpent, described his impression of the new fragrance in the shocking but funny imagery of a "hooker eating a burrito". Such was the effect of the cumin overload!

With cumin, you have to be very deliberate, it seems.

Related reading on PerfumeShrine: Cumin as a raw material, pheromones, sweat and list of cumin-laced fragrances

Penhaligon's Amaranthine: fragrance review

I had included Amaranthine by Penhaligon's in my Top 10 Scents that Sing Spring for 2010 a while ago with the following words: "Its name denotes the eternally beautiful and unfading. The perfume, just like the name (from the Greek αμάραντος), evokes a deep purple red, a "corrupted" floral oriental with plenty of "dirty" aspects combining spiced (clovey) ylang-ylang and jasmine on a milky sandalwood and musky base. Fetish-phobics should better shy away, but those worth their salt in immersing themselves head-long into intimate scents (ooops!) will rejoice that the meadows and the flowers do not only smell of the sterile florist's or Alpine tops. As shocking ~coming from such an upper-stiff-lip British brand~ as discovering that our favourite nanny, Julie Andrews, has a va jay jay ~and a wee hole~ after all!"

So why am I back reviewing this? Probably because I have been pondering these past few weeks on how it came as an utter shock into the Miss Charm school of the Penhaligon's line-up, smiling like characters out of a Jane Austen novel with no success in hiding this Edna Pontellier amongst them! Like other outspoken feminine florals, like Passion or Grand Amour by Annick Goutal, DelRae's Amoureuse and Vero Profumo Rubj, this is a case of not being afraid to shout off the rooftops its deliciously carnal intent. An intent that is rendered like it's the most natural thing in the world!
Penhaligon’s website says “Amaranthine [part of the new Anthology series] is a corrupted floral oriental for those private moments when everything is anticipation” and by that line alone one would surmiss they're up to no good: Which they're not, in the best possible sense. Yet it was March at Perfume Posse who put the apocalyptical size of the shock value in proper terms: "Immediately and humorously nicknamed Amaranthigh by perfumistas, Amaranthine was a shot across the bow in terms of our expectations from staid Penhaligon’s. Bertrand Duchaufour’s bizarre, refulgent twist on a boudoir scent would have been about the last thing I expected from the house, and I wasn’t alone there".

Like a modern time Léonce, a callous patriach who is unshakable in his views, I was eternally stuck on how Penhaligon's as a fragrance house amounted to instant Victoriana with doilles put under the TV-set and little floral mats on the arm-rests of the couches, in a house that smelled of crushed lavender and butter-foiled scones for tea, always a little stale. Pretty as a picture and nostalgic possibly, but would I live there? No if I had any hopes of saving my jaw muscles from overexertion from the smile that would plague my face translating its ecumenical acceptance and patience.
I had only managed to be interested in Malabah, Hammam Bouquet and Castile from the house's classics previously and in Lily & Spice from the newer range; my itinerary (stopping at the outskirts of Coventry and never intending to go all the way up to Leeds) was cut short: The train was abtruptly stopped at junction "Eyes Glazing Over Victorian Posy" with a disastrous detour via "Bluebell" which had nothing to do with blue and plenty to do with Bells of Hell going ting-a-ling-a-ling.

Perfumer Bertrand Duchaufour has managed to shake this ~in hindsight~ passé notion and thrust it out of the window of that very same train. (Actually he also did a complete redecoration of that English cottage above, ushering a little French deco amidst all that plaid and floral. One can have too much of a picturtesque thing, after all). Amaranthine is travelling from station to station between fruity-ladden vines that sprout banana-bubblegum tones of quality jasmine (and lush ylang ylang) and a gently green but spicy blend of cardamom and coriander recalling not yet fully fermented tea aromatized the Middle Eastern way. And when it stops, it takes you to someplace where proper good buttery English toffee is still made (creamy sandalwood, warm musk, milky caramel tones), so not everything British is lost. Two beauties, one English, one French, are having a tryst. Simply spectacular!

Notes for Penhaligon's Amaranthine: green tea, freesia, banana leaf, coriander, cardamom, rose, carnation, clove, orange blossom, ylang ylang, Egyptian jasmine, musk, vanilla, sandalwood, condensed milk, tonka bean.

Availability and Limited editions on this link.

A special thanks to Joe for introducing me to this gem.

Photo of a nude Brigitte Bardot and an equally nude Jane Birkin via The Moly Doily blog. Claudya photo by Bettina Rheims from the Female Troubles Series

Hermes Eau d'Hermes: fragrance review

The official site introduces Eau d'Hermès as "For me. For you. His and hers" and if an androgynous sensibility is already simpatico to you, the special Eau has the potential to surprise in other ways. Notoriously refered to as "that stinky Hermès" among perfume aficionados, this cologne has had a somewhat dimmed profile for many years, ever since its introduction in 1951 by renowned perfumer Edmond Roudnitska and still to this day enjoys a rather underground cult status.



The ~originally proficient in saddlery and leather goods~ luxury house has some of the most interesting Eaux around anyway, with the latest Eau de Pamplemousse Rose and Eau de Gentiane Blanche having me rave recently for their unassuming spontaneity and unassuming intellectualism, with the ultra-popular Eau de Merveilles with its saline note of ambergris and the mouthwatering Eau d'Orange Verte rounding out the edges. But the original Eau from 1951 is still a small marvel because it manages to recalibrate the Eau formula (a traditional recipe of herbs and hesperidia) into a dazzling kaleidoscope combining frank animal notes, spices, and the illusion of tobacco, a mirage that’s at once textured, elegant and "skanky". In some ways there is a bond with the famous fougère by Guerlain, Jicky: The proper lavender touch, the unabashed sexiness of civet, the contrast of old money and an almost cubist outlook. Only the sequence in Eau d'Hermès is in reverse ~first the objectionable part, then the sumptuous, dignified drydown! There is also kinship with some of the older lovely masculines in the line-up: Équipage and Bel Ami, which I also like very much.

Frankly I don't get much of the "dirty" vibe for which Eau d'Hermès is referenced myself, meaning it doesn't smell either really sweaty (rich though it is in cumin, the usual culprit as per received wisdom) or diaper-like/fecal (copious amounts of civet tend to do that). I get a finely tuned citrus-leather violin and piano duet with some white flowers peeking underneath discreetly. This might have to do with either my skank-eating skin or my seriously wrapped-up perception of what "dirty" really is (Apparently my threshold is rather raised in comparison to the average WASP sensibility, I've been told.) My money is on the second hypothesis, at any rate, and most Roudnitska creations with their improper parts always peeking through the layers seem to perform well. But as usual, try before you buy, because perception is everything when it comes to perfume appreciation and what's fine with me might be unbearable bathroom ambience to you. And cumino-phobiacs*, please beware!

The first bottle of Eau d'Hermès in my life was a gift from an artist friend who has a high brow in art issues and a low brow in matters of everyday commodities; which even now befundles me as to which end of the intellectual and aesthetic spectrum predominated when the choice for this gift was made! Eau d'Hermès is perfectly legible as a composition that doesn't trumpet its credentials in your face (there are luxury ingredients in it, but they never show off the bill, if you know what I mean), it nevertheless has some unusual streak which reminds me of another friend, a writer who hails from an old family tracing roots in the Byzantine Empire, and who likes to wear little hats cocked off-kilter and combine odd socks with her evening outfits. Bottom line, it conjures images of non-prim respectability, like an old, faded aristocrat who has the pissoir jugs displayed alongside the family china.

Notes for Eau d'Hermes: citrus, cumin, birchwood, moss, cedar, sandalwood, vanilla

Please take care not to confuse Eau d'Hermès with the semi-oriental Parfum d'Hermès from 1984 (in the round disk bottle) which is a completely different fragrance. The newest version rerworked by in-house perfumer Jean Claude Ellena is a bit more refined, a little more brainy and airy than the vintage, but still fantastically marvellous and arresting in the most incospicuous way. It is sold in all Hermes boutiques at an Eau de Toilette concentration, just ask for it.

Three different commemorative limited editions of Eau d'Hermès have circulated over the years, highly collectible and beautiful to look at. One is from 1993, depicted above, showing a rider upon a horse. Another is from 1994 with an etched Pegasus on the bottle depicted on the left, the other depicting the sun-carriage of Phaethon also etched on the crystal from 2001 depicted on the right. They're both available on Ebay right now for ridiculous amounts of money (A lesson for us all to stock up on rare limited editions instead of bonds, I guess).




















*Some of the other cumin/sweat-infested fragrances include: Kingdom (McQueen), L'Autre (Diptyque), Santal Blanc , Fleurs d'Oranger, Muscs Kublai Khan (Lutens), Declaration (Cartier), Timbuktu (L'Artisan), Gucci Eau de Parfum, Black Tourmaline (Olivier Dubrano), Rochas Femme (1984 reissue).

Paintings by the Spanish artist Juan Gris with music by Barry Mitchell performed by the Locrian Ensemble

Pheromone-ladden Body Washes and the Myth of Cumin as Related to Sweat

"Body washes, cosmetics, perfumes, and more all boast of their pheromone contents. There’s just one problem: There is no scientific evidence that people produce or respond to pheromones at all, or that dabbing them on will make you more attractive to potential mates.
This dearth of scientific evidence didn’t dissuade Dial, however. The soap-maker recently released a “pheromone-infused” body wash, then held a speed-dating “experiment” in which nine blindfolded women had to choose between nine men (some had used the wash, some hadn’t) they would go out with in order to 'prove' the wash worked" [...] “We don’t claim using our product you’re going to hit a home run,” said Ryan Gaspar, a [Dial] brand manager. “We say, ‘We’ll get you to first base'." Read the whole article on Discoblog from Discover Magazine.

On the other hand, and far from the lathering board, cumin, an oriental spice of most often Turkish production, has been inumerable times linked to the scent of sweat on online fora and communities. The source of this rumour has been firstly the use of the cumin spice in many classic French perfumes which have a slightly "dirty" undertone starting with Roudnitska creations, the re-issued Femme by Rochas and numerous Jean Claude Ellena compositions; and secondly a quote from the book by Chandler Burr where he likens the smell of cumin to female sweat. Researchers at Firmenich however have disagreed: men's sweat smells of cheese and female sweat smells of onions, according to their research in their Swiss laboratories.

According to an article at the New Scientist: "[...]research in Switzerland involved taking armpit sweat samples from 24 men and 25 women after they had spent time in a sauna or ridden an exercise bike for 15 minutes. The researchers found marked differences in the sweat from men and women. "Men smell of cheese, and women of grapefruit or onion," says Christian Starkenmann of Firmenich, a company in Geneva that researches flavours and perfumes for food and cosmetics companies. The team found that the women's armpit sweat contained relatively high levels of an odourless sulphur-containing compound - 5 milligrams per millilitre of sweat versus 0.5 milligrams in men" , making female perspiration the more "unpleasant" one. Sulphur-rich materials include onions, garlic and grapefruit (which is why so often grapefruit scents can turn "garlicky" and sour on many women). The female sweat had ten times the level of an odorless sulphur-containing compound than men. It turns out that when this ingredient interacts with bacteria present in the axilla, it creates a chemical called thiol—which is the cuplrit for smelling like onions. Men had increased levels of an odorless fatty acid, which gives off a cheesy smell once it mixes with the armpit bacteria.

Incidentally experiements as to the attractive properties of androstenone secreted into male sweat have proven that clean sweat from men at a reproductive age is considered attractive to a substantial segment of the screening subjects.
Your cumin-containing fragrances can be absolved, ladies!!

Cumin (Cuminum cyminum) however is a fascinating material for perfumery indeed: almost green and aromatic on one end, very warm and aniseed-faceted on the other end. It is no wonder that Pharaohs, ancient Greeks and Romans all prized it for its rich aroma and its stabilising aromatherapy properties. One imaginative tradition wants newlyweds sharing a cumin-laced tisane as a means to ensure stability in their marriage.
The oil comes from steam distillation of the dried and ground seeds of the small annual plant that blossoms at the border of the Mediterranean, in China, and in India (the latter is the largest provider of black cumin, a more powerful variant from Northern Kashmir, which is prized in North Indian dishes and is frequently featured in the Garam Marsala sweet spice mix). It is frequently featured in men's perfumes to offset lighter notes and it imparts a wonderful carnality in feminine fragrances. It being a great divider, however, several people find a prominent note of cumin too foody or too "dirty", so sampling is definitely recommended for the following list of fragrances containing it.

Please also refer to my What are Animalic & "Skanky"-Called Fragrances Anyway article for more details. 

Notable Perfumes Containing Cumin (with an asterisk, when prominent):
Links below redirect to full reviews
Alexander Mac Queen Kingdom (*)
Amouage Jubilation 25 (*)
Aramis Havana for MenAramis Tuscany Forte (*)
Bobo Dinner (*)
Bond No.9 Andy Warhol's Lexington Avenue
Cartier Déclaration (*)
Clarins Eau DynamisanteComme des Garcons Stephen Jones
Comme des Garcons 2 (*)
D&G 11 La Force
Dior Diorella (*)
Dior Jules (*)
Diptyque L'Autre (*)
Frapin Caravelle Epicée
Frapin Terre de SarmentGiorgio Beverly Hills Red for Men
Gucci Eau de Parfum I (2002, brown juice, square bottle) (*)
Hermès Eau d'Hermès (*)
Histoires des Parfums 1876Jacques Fath Green WaterJean Paul Gaultier Le MâleKenzo Jungle L'Eléphant (*)
Le Labo Rose 31
Maison Francis Kurkdjian Absolue pour le Soir (*)
Parfum d'Empire Aziyadé
Patricia de Nicolai Vétyver
Penhaligon's Amaranthine (*)
Ralph Lauren PoloRalph Lauren Polo CrestRochas Femme ~NB. the reformulated 80s version (*)
Serge Lutens Arabie
Serge Lutens Chêne
Serge Lutens El Attarine (*)
Serge Lutens Fleurs d'Oranger (*)
Serge Lutens Serge Noire (*)
The Different Company Rose Poivrée ~NB.before the latest 2008 reformulation (*)
Vero Profumo RubjVersace White JeansYves Saint Laurent YvressePic via fitho.in

Declaration by Cartier: fragrance review & comparison with L'essence and Bois Bleu

In horror fiction phantoms are creatures who consume other life forms as sustenance, and are able to perfectly mimic any creature they consume. Déclaration by Cartier is perfumer's Jean Claude Ellena's own homage to a phantom's mental connotations and in its turn the propagator of legion of phantoms in modern perfumery. But like its namesake aviation F-4 counterpart (affectionately called "the rhinoceros", although its first proposed ~and quickly rejected~ names were Satan or Mithra) it has done everything in a stealth of silent power!
Largely unsung and not given the proper attention it so richly deserves, almost taken for granted, it is nothing short of an absolute masterpiece of fusing cutting-edge modernity into a classical aromatic cologne formula for men. Eau d'Hermès (a 1951 Edmond Roudnitska creation) has been haunting Jean Claude Ellena's subconsious for ages, it seems. Its fantastically ripe, "skanky" interweaving of cedar, cumin, birchwood and moss manages to provide snippets of Jean Claude's insignia in almost everything he touches, interpreted and sieved through the most minutiae-capable colander; in Déclaration we see the student at once pay homage to the teacher and further the cause in most confident and spiritual brushstrokes of a mature Sōsho calligraphy. So much so that Jean Claude himself has admitted a partiality to this one out of his scented progeny. But whereas Eau d'Hermès went for the leathery, Jean Claude opted for the dry woody, injecting a large dollop of woody synthetic Iso-E Super, a material with which he has been experimenting for years to impressive effect.

"Created for men, but also enjoyed by women, Cartier's Déclaration was created for those who are in love, have an appreciation of openness, and feel passion". The fragrance erupted on the scene in 1998 like the ripples of lava slowly coming down the mountain: it has since consumed everything in its trail, influencing major players in its aromatic wake and pre-empting the new sharp, dry woody masculines like Colonia Intensa for Aqua di Parma (also by Jean Claude Ellena), Cipresso di Toscana by Aqua di Parma, Gucci by Gucci, John Varvatos Vintage and the newest niche masculine by Ormonde Jayne, Zizan; fragrances which gracefully followed the dearth of marines inaugurated by Bourdon's Cool Water two decades ago. And not a moment too soon!
My own personal encounter with it was buying it for myself upon launch, lured by the sexily fresh-sweat-vibe it exuded and then having my other half smelling it on me, usurping it most decisively, claiming it and making it his own ever since, to the most delicious effects which are better left to the reader's fertile imagination. It makes him feel refreshed , as if he's seeing the dawn for the first time opening windows which give on a view of the autumn forest, he says. Needless to say Déclaration occupies a very special segment of my olfactory cortex!

My friend Dane described it in a conversation as "a taxi driver in a forest" the other day and he couldn't be more accurate. If he had likened Déclaration to chantey, that would be close as well: The sweaty side married to the freshness of open horizons, all obeying a rhythmical discipline that engulfs you. The marriage of lucid clarity and sous-bois depth prove its masterful treatment of contrasting elements.
The jolting cumin opening is often feared as coming across as sweaty and indeed this is no scent for Waspy brokers who want to exude the prolonged latheriness of a morning shower-blast topped with a hundred grooming products à la Bret Easton Ellis heroes. On the contrary, this is very à la française, a scent for men the old style. Not caricatures of manufactured virility, you comprehend, but men who breathe and live and wear T-shits or wife-beater vests with a little humidity on their chest hair; a little overbearing or even narcissitic at times but passionate and sincere nonetheless. The idiosyncratic bitter citrusy elements (bergamot and bitter orange) and the green artemisia recall the comparable treatment Ellena reserved for his lustruous bitter-orange and limes themed Cologne Bigarade and Bigarade Concentrée for the Frédéric Malle line. But the real coup de grace comes in the guise of another exotic spice, cardamom, which makes me envision a slightly cocky chap in pressed chinos enjoying his aromatized inky tea taken in long, sensuous sips while checking the atractive passerbys.
This is Ellena's nod to Bulgari's tea-themed creations he authored previously, Eau Parfumée au Thé Vert (1992) and Eau Parfumée au Thé Vert Extrême (1996). What is left is the ambience of a lasting warmth, not rendered easily by laundry musks but fanned out on dry, luxurious, slightly smoky woods, which manage to not obscure the composition but play upon light and shadow like a black & white photograph of a compelling and charismatic French actor.

The bottle reprises the watch mechanism of Cartier watches' winding section with its cap (You have to pull the little metal holder down to let the sprayer free, just like releasing the security of a watch winder). The glass part looks as if two parts of a whole have been cut and re-assembled at an angle creating a small heart on the shoulders if looked from above, which gives a playful and even eerily girly vibe (and which bodes well with the unisex concept).

Notes for Déclaration by Cartier
Top: bergamot, bitter orange, birchwood
Middle: cardamom, wormwood, juniper wood, artemesia
Bottom: vetiver, oakmoss, cedarwood

Déclaration by Cartier is available at major department stores around the world.

Two flankers exist, both created by Jean Claude Ellena: L'essence de Déclaration (2001), a minimally different version on the original with the addition of rosewood, immortelle, a little amber and a lightening up of the slightly medicinal aspects of the original, encased in the same design bottle in teal glass; and Déclaration Bois Bleu (limited edition in 2001), which is a "fresher" interpretation in a light blue bottle (which to me is usually foreboding of "sporty" things for people not into sports, really). For the latter Chandler Burr commented: "This one is PG-13, but that simply means the cuminic body odor is gone (some will miss it; more will not). Its personality has been smoothed and calmed and de-Frenchified". Personally I'd rather have the original, as I feel the aquatic addition skews it in a direction I am not sure I'd want to stalk.
There is also Déclaration Eau Genereuse (a Limited edition from 2003), of which "generous water" the concept of is reportedly a re-working in Eau de Cologne style.
Cartier went on and produced Roadster for men recently. Which is pretty nice, but no match for the strange allure of Déclaration, despite aiming at roughly the same demographic.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Jean Claude Ellena scents and opinions, Masculine fragrances.

Pics via Couleur parfum and Parfum de pub. Vincent Cassel photographed by Vincent Peters.

Aziyade by Parfum d'Empire: fragrance review

"The delicate exactitude with which he reproduced the impression given to his own alert nerves by unfamiliar forms, colours, sounds and perfumes" is how a contemporary critic describes the cadence literary style of Pierre Loti, French author of "Aziyadé". The exoticism and decadence of the Near and Far East at the core of the romanticism of the 19th century thus provides the backdrop for the newest fragrance by Parfum d'Empire, Aziyadé. A fragrance inspired by the indolent life of a harem at the twilight of the Ottoman Empire.
"Aziyadé" or "Constantinople" is a semi-autobiographical novel (1879), based on the diary by Pierre Loti (nom de plume of Louis Marie-Julien Viaud), kept during his 3-month stay as a Naval officer in Greece and Constantinople in the fall/winter of 1876. It recounts the then 27-year old Loti's illicit love affair with a 18 year old "Circassian" harem girl, Aziyadé. Although one in a string of conquests, a gold ring with her name on it worn for the remainder of his days suggests otherwise. Loti's "friendship" with a Spanish man servant named Solomon provides the intrigue of a love triangle in which some tone of homosexual affair is hinted. Loti, a pseudonym derived from an Indian flower which loves to blush unseen, excels at this literary species of confession, half-way between fact and fiction. But the protagonist remains the omnipresent fascination with the opulence of the East with its inherent sensuality (as reflected in his other works (L'Inde (sans les Anglais), Les Derniers Jours de Pékin, and Madame Chrysanthème), influencing such aesthetes as Marcel Proust and John Luther Long.
The English translation by Marjorie Laurie, no longer in copyright, however contains sanitized descriptions of harem life, prostitution and homosexuality, while the original French first edition is a highly prized collectors item (you can download it free here).

It is of course unfortunate and bitterly ironic that when the modern western observer thinks of harems eyes glaze with the promise of nubile forms sleathed with aromatic oils, emerging through the steamy vapours of an intoxicating mirage. These notions of a place where women dependent on a single man are ready at any moment to satisfy his every whim were honed by opulent odalisques painted in sweeping brustrokes by Ingres and the playful libretto of the Mozart opera. Historical evidence shutters that illusion however with its harsh reality of violent abductions, cruel enslavement and snarly political chess-games; fate was harsh not only to women but to men too ~the atrocious practices reserved for the sandali eunuchs curl the blood. Slave concubines for sexual reproduction emphasize the patriarchal nature of power ("hereditary" through only male heirs). Unlike wives they had no recognized lineage, while the latter were suspected to have vested interests in their own family's affairs, interfering with their loyalty to their husband. This system made concubines preferrable, if affordable. Therefore slave concubines as an equal method of reproduction without the risks of marriage (mainly that of the potential betrayal of a wife, thus questioning an heir's paternity) became a solid custom.

In Parfum d'Empire Aziyadé, the scent doesn't correspond to the Valide Sultan for whom Shalimar might fit glove-like, but to a young concubine destined to become kadin, his favoured wife. Those quintessential spices of Near East orientalia, cardamom and cumin, exhale their dangerous yet strangely comforting breath upon the proceedings like the steam rising from a Chai cup offered in supplication. The redolence of richly sweet dates, oranges and prunes predisposes to recast one's mind to that dried-fruit souk alcove that is Arabie by Serge Lutens, but also the 80s Cresp reformulation of Femme by Rochas with its stewed prunes dusted with cumin. Carob is another Near East reference: Ceratonia siliqua, the scientific name of the carob tree, derives from the Greek κεράτιων, “fruit of the carob” (from keras [κέρας] "horn" due to its shape). Its fruit is sweet, succulent with a chocolate-y warmth edged in bitterness. Balanced between sweet and acidulous facets, Aziyadé would be appealing to those who find the abundance of Arabie inviting and accordingly excessive to those who don't.



Parfum d'Empire is a French niche line established by Marc Antoine Corticchiato in 2003 painting olfactory portraits of the great Empires of the past from the Alexander the Great (Iskander) and the Romans (Equistrius), through the Mongul Empire (Fougère Bengale) and the Russian Tsars (Ambre Russe) to the Chinese Empire (Osmanthus Interdite), the Ottomans (Cuir Ottoman) and Napoléon (Eau de Gloire) with Joséphine (Eau Suave).

Notes for Aziyade:
pomegranate, crystallized date, almond, orange and prune, cardamom, cinnamon, ginger, Egyptian cumin, carob, frankincense, vanilla, Madagascar vanilla absolute, patchouli, musk, cistus

Available at 50ml/1.7oz (95$) and 100ml/3.4oz (130$) at Luckyscent and soon online at the official site.

Painting Les Almées by Paul Louis Bouchard via chapitre.com. Clip of Arabian dance from Nutcracker Suite by P.I.Tchaikovsky from the Mariinsky Theatre ballets' performance in St.Petersburg, originally uploaded by radostsguy on Youtube.